How to Keep a Secret
by samantha.m.ramsay
Summary: A strange box lands on the promenade and an even stranger man emerges to join Garak and Julian for lunch. As their conversation unfolds, each participant tries to keep their own secrets hidden. Hints at spoilers for "Doctor Bashir, I Presume?" Please read and review.
1. The Box on the Promenade

**Standard disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or their respective Franchises. Doctor Who, Star Trek DS9, and all their stuff belong to other people.

**Reviews are always appreciated. **If you liked it, I'd love to know why. If you didn't like it, I'd love to know why.

The promenade of Deep Space Nine was a busy place, but with the exception of Constable Odo, it was not a particularly observant one. People walked by, seeing only their intended destination or some other equally distracting vision. As was his habit this time of day, Odo was in Quark's bar, questioning him about some suspected extralegal activity. Quark probably knew nothing about the entire event, but Odo took at least as much pleasure in harassing him as he did in actually getting useful information, so he still counted it as a worthwhile use of his time.

As it so happened, Odo's apparent fascination with Quark left no one observant enough to notice the sudden appearance on the promenade of a rather anachronistic blue box. It was not the sort of box one would expect to see on a space station. It was made of wood, not metal, and had words on it in an archaic form of Federation Standard. These words, in glowing white letters, proclaimed the object to be a "Police public call box". If asked, very few people on board the station would have ever heard of a "Police public call box", and even fewer would know precisely what the box was for. In fact, only Dr. Julian Bashir had ever actually seen the image of such a box, and even that only because of his rather childish fascination with holoprograms. Of course, the relative ignorance of the station as to the historical significance of the public call box was largely unimportant, due to the fact that this box was nothing of the sort.

By all rights, the box shouldn't even have been there. It wasn't supposed to be in this universe, and it's "pilot" (aka "That backseat driver who doesn't realise he's in the back seat") had previously been under the impression that there were no remaining ways to traverse universes without bursting a hole in at least one of them. He was quite surprised, therefore, when he discovered a loophole - or more accurately, a wormhole. Being exactly the sort of person who delighted in going places he probably shouldn't go, and having some time to kill while he waited for a friend to take some "time to herself" for a week, he thought it would be best if he took advantage of the opportunity.

Really, he could have spent several days simply examining the wormhole he'd found his way into. It was a marvellous creation - for it was an artificial construction - and he was immensely curious about the implications of the design. However, he had been led to believe by one (or perhaps several) firsthand encounters that the wormhole is actually a living space for some transcendent entities and they would appreciate it very much if he kept his time-distorting ship out of their consciousness before he gave them a headache, thank you very much. He, himself had been trying to fathom how he could leave _before_ he gave _timeless entities_ a headache, but he eventually decided to file it in his "wibbly-wobbly" cabinet and leave.

And here he was: the land beyond the wormhole. Or space, or whatever. He knew it had to be space - no matter what dimension one was in, space stations always had that unmistakable design - a poorly-concealed attempt at compromising between an enjoyable living space and an efficient one. Even if he had somehow misinterpreted the decor, however, there was still no confusion about the spinning. It was a very slight sensation - so slight he doubted many of the station's occupants could even feel it - but it was enough for recognition (and, in some cases, mild nausea).

Fortunately, today was not a day for nausea, and the Doctor (an identity which had become a title, or a title which had become an identity- no one could tell) was able to stroll along the promenade with relative ease. The TARDIS was still unnoticed, and what with all of the diverse creatures on the station, the Doctor figured he probably would be too.

His figuring would probably have been correct, had it not been for two things. The first of these things was his own doing - his humanoid appearance may have blended in on the station, but his clothing did not. To anyone whose business it was to know about the trends and styles of the time, he was sorely out of place in his bow-tie, suspenders, and patched tweed jacket.

The second of these things was the presence on the promenade of a man whose business it was to know these things (and, really, anything else which may or may not eventually come in handy). His name was Elim Garak, and he was currently meandering down the promenade with Dr. Julian Bashir on the way to lunch.

"Now, really Dr, I fail to see how you could possibly see more value in these melodramatic farces than you do in good, Cardassian literature!" Garak smiled at Julian as he delivered this comment, creating a slightly unnerving contrast between the statement and the delivery.

Julian was far less reserved than his conversational partner, and gestured dramatically as they walked. "But _Garak,_ Shakespeare is not a 'melodramatic farce!' _Hamlet _is widely considered to be a classic piece of literature."

Garak gave a slightly patronizing sigh, and waited a moment before delivering his next line. "My dear Doctor, all I'm saying is that with-" he paused for a moment, and his politely argumentative expression transformed into something more akin to curiosity. "Pardon the interruption, Doctor, but have you ever seen that man around before?"

Julian looked in the direction of Garak's extended finger. He frowned and shook his head. "No, but I can't see why it matters. We get new visitors all the time." He smiled. "I think you're just trying to drag this conversation away from the argument you're losing."

Truth be told, this was no small factor in the Cardassian man's actions, but he had never been much of one for the truth, and quickly decided that this one would be just as well untold. "Not at all, Doctor, but I do find myself wondering what such an _oddly dressed_ man would be doing so far away from a holosuite." The man's clothing _was_ out of keeping with the time period, no matter what species he was, and Garak found his curiosity as a tailor piqued (despite his best interests to hate the profession, he had to admit it was growing on him).

Garak's expertly trained eye scanned the promenade, searching for clues as to the strange man's situation. The only thing out of place other than the man himself was a funny-looking box, which Garak had to admit he could not identify. By now he was most definitely interested in the situation, and he gestured to the box as he turned to Julian. "Care to investigate with me before we go to lunch?"

The strange man was casually strolling along the promenade, gazing about at the assortment of shops, people, and simple bulkheads with equal interest. It was, therefore, a simple matter to catch up to him before he got too far out of the way. Garak and Julian approached him, smiling, and exchanged a quick glance with each other before starting the conversation.

"Hello, sir," Julian began. "Have you just arrived on the station?"

The man turned to them, grinning for no apparent reason. "Yes, I suppose I have. This is a space station, then? I thought as much. You don't happen to know the year, do you?"

This time it was Garak who spoke. "Why, yes, of course. This is the space station Deep Space Nine, and the year is 2372." He paused, letting his eyes shift away from the man standing in front of him. "I don't suppose you would mind if I asked how it is you don't already have this information?"

"Yes, I don't suppose you get asked that sort of question very much, do you? I'm the Doctor, by the way. Or at least, you can call me the Doctor. I'm not from around here, obviously. I came from a different dimension using that marvellous wormhole of yours, which as it so happens is a sort of hole in the fabric of reality through which my ship can travel, although I don't think the wormhole's residents really appreciated my interest." He paused for breath, apparently not noticing (or else relishing in) the rather unusual facial expressions displayed by his audience. They were the sort of facial expressions one would expect to see if something unusual had been said, but it was difficult to tell if they conveyed confusion, disbelief, or amusement. Really, this was more than he would ordinarily have said to a pair of strangers, but he supposed the time away from Clara was starting to get to him.

After taking a beat to assimilate all of this information, Julian spoke. "Nice to meet you, Doctor. I'm Dr. Julian Bashir, and this is Garak. Are you a medical doctor?"

Garak, who had been observing both doctors and silently estimating the amount of time they would spend speaking with one another, decided to take matters into his own hands. "If you'll pardon the interruption, Doctor, my friend and I were just on our way to lunch. Would you care to join us and continue this conversation?" He put on his best smile - the one he usually reserved for manipulating Sisko or offending Gul Dukat - and gestured towards the replimat. As the two doctors led the way, he pondered the challenge ahead of him - this man would be almost as much fun to figure out as Dr. Bashir was, and the two of them together should make for some very _entertaining_ conversation. By the time they were halfway there he was already planning the stories he would tell them - which little "secrets" should he let slip today?

Once they had arrived at the replimat and taken seats, it became apparent just how different the two dimensions were. Almost none of the food was at all familiar to the Doctor, and he began to wonder at what point this dimension had split off from his own. Of course, even the few dishes which were theoretically the same bore little resemblance to the ones he knew - it was replicated food, after all. Nevertheless, he daringly picked out a few random dishes he'd never heard of before (and then promptly disposed of the Gagh and picked again) before settling in to talk.


	2. An Interesting Conversation

The conversation was fascinating. There was so much to be learned on both sides, and Julian soon became immersed in a detailed analysis of scientific and cultural differences between the dimensions. The Doctor seemed as excited about the new information as he was, and even Garak had a good time comparing literature. For a while, Julian lost himself in the nuances of the discussion, eager to be intellectually stimulated and engaged. It was only as he was reciting part of this world's version of the Bajoran religious texts that he caught himself. _Slow down, Julian_, he told himself, and "forgot" the rest of the passage. This was dangerous territory. Medical discussions were easy, since no one else knew what he was saying anyway. But this was different, and he had to remember that _normal people_ didn't remember whole books word for word. He dropped out of the conversation for a bit, and settled for listening to Garak lecture the Doctor on the merits of Cardassian mystery novels. Maybe he could turn the conversation to his own life - he might sound narcissistic, but at least he would be safe.

Garak manoeuvred the conversation like a dance - a nudge here, a hint there - and delighted when he found that this "Doctor" could fight back. As Julian sipped on his Tarkalean tea, he led this newcomer into a discussion of Cardassian literature. It was one of his favourite topics, and he could discuss it for hours, but he was pleasantly surprised when the Doctor began to use the conversation for his own gentle probing. It was little questions - subtle ones, like Garak himself had used in the early, gentle stages of interrogations. "How old were you when you first read that book?" "When was that published?" "What parallels do you see between that and Earth literature?" _Delicious._ This was a man who knew how to draw conclusions from the little hints and clues a person dropped. He had to be careful with this one, or else even the lies he told might make the mask transparent. He ran through his stories, editing them as he went - a name here, a word there - just enough to make them the stories someone else would tell. Just a little more cliché; just a little more outlandish. Although his stories were false, his smile was genuine. This was _fun_.

As they spoke, the Doctor examined the conversation from several simultaneous angles. The man sitting in front of him was clearly someone who loved to be seen as a mystery. Given his lack of experience with this dimension, he couldn't say for sure if this was a species-wide trait, or something unique to this particular individual, but it certainly made for an interesting conversation. The Doctor was sure that at least half of what he said was not at all true, but the lies were just as interesting as any truths may have been. Far more interesting, however, was the literature they were discussing. This world must have diverged from his own quite some time ago, judging by the differences in culture and empire in this time period. There was so much here to explore and discover! He must take Clara here sometime.

The conversation shifted, as conversations tend to do, and soon they were focusing on the Doctor's world. How much should he tell them? He wasn't familiar enough with this dimension to know what the fixed points were, although he didn't think there were any with which he was likely to interfere. Well, as long as he kept them away from the important things, some basic trivia couldn't hurt. So he did what he did best - what he always did - and regaled them with stories of faraway places and things which defied the imagination, keeping them too enthralled with the new discoveries to question the important things. He usually took his companions to exotic planets and distant times, but here he found himself talking mostly about Earth and other familiar planets. It was more fantastic to learn about something old turned new than to learn about something completely unheard of. And it worked. It always worked - even on himself. He ran away from his secrets, hiding them in the dust of his past and ignoring them until he was reminded by pain. In his experience, it was easier to hide the darkness if you keep it a secret from yourself.

Julian had a fascination with history. He loved to read old Earth stories, and collected holoprograms taking place in antique eras. It was unsurprising, then, that he soon found himself caught up in the discussion once more, despite his earlier decision to avoid dangerous subjects. This was not really a new experience for him - he was interested in so many subjects that he always found himself excitedly joining in a conversation, talking much more than he'd intended to, and later mentally bashing his head against a wall and wondering why no one else had caught onto him. The conversation really was wonderful, though - it appeared that Earth's history had remained very similar throughout most of the nineteen hundreds, and they had a wonderful time discussing the historical similarities and impacts between their worlds. The Doctor appeared to have access to some sort of unregulated time travel (Julian could already picture the horrified faces of the Temporal Anomalies inspectors), and the casual way he mentioned various historical figures was astonishing. Julian himself spoke mostly about his own opinions of and fascinations with these historical figures, and despite his obvious perceptiveness, the Doctor appeared to take more interest in probing Garak than Julian. That, he mused, was one advantage of being around the mysterious "Tailor": his intentionally enigmatic nature did a successful job of masking Julian, as well as himself.

Garak, for his part, was starting to find the entire conversation just the slightest bit unsettling. He was used to having the upper hand in these situations - he could almost always grasp the other person's motives and personality in just a few sentences, even if he didn't necessary get all the details right away. It had certainly been that way with Julian - he'd unsettled the good doctor from the start, gained the advantage, and quickly assessed the other man's character: he was optimistic, enthusiastic, and rather remarkably naive for his considerable intelligence. This new man, however, remained a mystery. There was obviously more to him than met the eye, but his very nature seemed to shift whenever he began to decipher the man. The Doctor himself appeared almost unaware of his evasiveness, as though it was a habit so deeply ingrained that he was no longer conscious of it – or else was intentionally ignoring it. It was maddening. Still, Garak knew he was far from losing this delicate sparring match. He was certain that the stranger was still largely in the dark about his own past, and took no small amount of pride in that knowledge. No, he wasn't losing, but it had been so long since he'd been on equal footing that he found the conversation disconcerting nevertheless.


	3. The Keeping of Secrets

The Doctor's sense of time was very finely tuned - he could tell if something was a fixed or mutable point, and he knew what sorts of things should and shouldn't be allowed to happen. Despite this, he was still astonishingly bad at actually gauging the passage of time. He usually found himself more frequently impatient than anything else, however, and therefore was greatly surprised when Julian informed him that almost an hour had passed, and he had to get back to work.

"Well, then," he said as they started walking, in unspoken agreement, towards the TARDIS. "Maybe I'll see you round sometime, drop in for another of those replicated lunches of yours."

Garak nodded. "That would be most kind, Doctor. Perhaps I could do something about that," he paused, pointedly, "_outfit_ of yours. I am a tailor, after all."

The Doctor frowned defensively. "I'll pass, thanks." Following Garak's gaze he straightened his bow tie, and added "Bow ties are cool."

Garak shrugged politely and threw up his hands. "I can't say it's any worse than those Starfleet uniforms, I suppose." He smiled innocently at Julian, who shot him a look which greatly implied the frequency with which this exchange happened. Garak had no time to reply to the silent admonition, however, before they reached the TARDIS.

"Well, here's my ride," the Doctor joked. He opened the doors and started in. "Hang around a moment - you'll like this bit."

Julian and Garak watched as the doors closed behind the strange man and the stranger ship, and the whole thing began to disappear. Julian could only guess at the technology involved in the process, and wondered just how great the extent of the Doctor's knowledge really was. He would have loved the chance to discuss the experience with Garak in greater detail, but they were surprised by Jadzia's voice from behind.

"What are you two looking at? Is something wrong with the bulkhead?"

They turned, and Julian opened his mouth to respond when he saw Garak shoot him a look from the corner of his eye. He stopped, and shook his head. "No, sorry, we were just..." He paused, floundering.

Garak helped him out. "We were just examining the colour scheme of the wall. I was trying to explain a pattern I'm considering to the good doctor."

Jadzia gave Garak the sort of disbelieving look he frequently received (and, truthfully, delighted in), but shrugged and turned back to Julian. "You're needed in Sickbay. Morn injured his arm in an argument with some Klingons."

Julian sighed, nodding. "He really does need to learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes. I'll be right there."

He said goodbye to Garak and strode towards Sickbay. Why had they not said anything about the Doctor? There was really no reason to keep quiet about it, but the whole experience had been so unusual and perplexing that it just seemed best to keep it a secret. Garak certainly seemed to agree with him - but then again, Garak thought everything should be kept secret except the lies. _Well then,_ he supposed, _a secret it will be._ He could manage that. He certainly had the experience, if his life to date was anything to go by. _I know how to keep a secret._

The Doctor dashed about the TARDIS console, flicking switches and pressing buttons. He wasn't really sure where he was going. He could explore this world some more, or go get Clara, or try to examine the wormhole more closely again. In the end, he supposed it didn't really matter; he just wanted to keep moving. To keep running. He could feel his secrets catching up with him, and he didn't like it. Secrets were best kept safely behind you, in the dark where no one - not even yourself - could see them. The problem, he supposed, was that if you left secrets in the dark for too long, they came back and started to haunt you. And if they started to haunt you, other people started to realise that you were running from them. Still, running was better than nothing at all, and the wonderful thing about Clara was that she had secrets of her own. Secrets which kept him busy, too preoccupied with her mystery to focus on the fact that he knew his own was coming back to hunt him down. He remembered Dorium's words to him as he spoke of what was coming. "_Doctor who?"_

Ask as they might, he would never tell. Haunting him or no, he knew how to keep a secret.


End file.
